Thanks, Newt
by shuckedngonetoheaven
Summary: Newtmas-ified version of the original story, told from the perspectives of both Thomas and Newt. (TST/TDC spoilers. A mix of the books and films.)
1. Giving Up

{Newt's POV.}

Tears blurred the fifteen year old's eyes as he ran through the Maze.

Right turn, left turn, left turn, right turn.

He pretty much already knew the Maze like the back of his hand, from just under a year of having to run through it every day. Morning until evening. From dawn until dusk. The Runners were the only ones who had watches, so they'd know the time they had to be back to the Glade by if they didn't want to spend a night in the Maze. And nobody was stupid enough to want to spend a night there, because anyone who _had_ never made it until morning. The Grievers made sure of that.

But this time, he didn't know or care where he was or where he was going. And this time, Newt wasn't planning on getting back to the Glade before the doors shut for the night. He wasn't planning on going back at all.

He hated it. He hated the Maze, he hated the Glade, he hated the people who'd put them all in this bloody hell. Because if Hell existed, this was it. And he'd had enough. Every single day since arriving in the Box, all memories of his past life wiped from his mind, Newt had been unhappy. He didn't know who he was, how they'd got there, what the world outside was like... Not even who his own family were. Or if they missed him. Well, if there was no one to miss him, then what was the point of existing? It'd almost been a full year, and they were still no closer to finding an exit to the never-ending Maze than they had been at the start. It was useless. They weren't getting out. What was the point in trying.

Minho had guessed something was wrong that morning; he always knew. Minho and Alby were Newt's closest friends of all the Gladers, but even they couldn't make his life any better. And after a while, they'd given up asking if he was okay, because the answer was obvious: none of them were okay, not really. They were just... coping. But this morning, Minho had looked more concerned than normal, even asking if he wanted to sit today out - but Newt had firmly disagreed. He knew what he wanted to do.

He wasn't going back. He was going to end it all. Today.

Now.

Slowly coming to a stop, his vision almost totally impaired from the tears that welled up and overflowed down his cheeks, Newt turned to the grey and green smudge that was one of the ivy-covered Maze walls. Taking a few steps over to it, he blinked away the tears and looked up. It was hundreds of metres tall, like the infinite other walls. He wouldn't be able to climb to the very top, but surely a fall from about 30 feet would be enough.

And so, grabbing hold of the thick green ivy, Newt began to haul himself up the side of the huge slab of stone. Having a lot of upper body strength, it wasn't difficult for him to do, but the ivy itself wasn't totally stable and he did end up slipping a few times – but not even that made him question whether he was doing the right thing. Soon enough he'd reached a height that gave him enough vertigo for him to think that it was high enough and, breathing heavily, he gave one last look at the blue sky. It was peaceful. There was no sun, no clouds, no birds. Just him, the Maze and the sky.

Newt let go of the ivy.


	2. We're Gonna Get Out Of This Mess

{Thomas' POV.}

Unlike the last couple of nights sleeping in the Scorch, it wasn't Thomas' thoughts that woke him up. Not his thoughts about WICKED, or whether they were going to get out of this alive. Not even about Teresa.

It was the sound of a loud gasp, followed by sudden rustling and movement on the sandy ground right beside him. Startled, instincts kicking in in case they were going to be opposed to yet another threat, he threw off the sheet that had been covering him in order to protect him from the blistering sun, and sat up.

Newt sat to his right, tangled in his own sheet, hugging his knees and rocking back and forwards slightly.

Thomas felt a pang in his chest. His friend looked just like a little kid in the dim light of the moon's pale glow. Brow furrowing, he shifted a little so that he was closer to the other boy, trying to meet his gaze, although Newt was showing no sign whatsoever that he was aware of Thomas' presence, much less that he had his undivided attention and concern.

"Hey," Thomas started, his voice quiet so as not to wake any of the other sleeping Gladers around them. "Newt. You okay, man?"

Finally, the older boy stopped his gentle rocking, gaze shifting to meet his own, even though he hadn't moved his head to do it.

"I'm fine, Tommy. Go back to sleep."

Thomas had no intention of doing that at all. Not until he knew what was wrong, and something /was/ wrong, he could tell.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" He asked, but his question lacked malice of any kind; it was just full of intrigue.

Newt's glare was suddenly sharp, and Thomas was almost inclined to back away as a result of it. Maybe he wasn't going to get an explanation out of him that easily after all. He'd only known Newt a few weeks, which somehow felt like a lifetime, but Thomas knew that he normally wasn't one to show much emotion.

Perhaps the Maze had made him that way.

Either way, Newt was his friend, and he wouldn't rest until he knew what had shaken him so much. He'd have to try a different approach.

"Listen, I'd be confused if you /weren't/ having nightmares. We've been through a lot, it's-"

"Don't pretend you know anything about what I've been through!" Newt suddenly retorted in a harsh whisper, his eyes narrowed with a sort of fire that Thomas had never seen in him before. He could do nothing but stare, his mouth involuntarily hanging open as he simply couldn't find the words to reply.

"You know nothing about me, you bloody shank." The other boy continued, but his gaze was cast downwards now, and he almost looked ashamed; the anger on his facial features having disappeared as quickly as it'd shown. And, unless Thomas was very much mistaken, a tear glistened in the corner of his eye - but as soon as it fell, Newt forcefully rubbed his eyes with his fingers, emitting a soft groan as he tilted his head towards the sky.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," Newt whispered, avoiding meeting his gaze again. "I'm not... I don't feel like myself right now."

"Newt, it's alright." Thomas replied gently, but he couldn't help feeling awkward. What was he supposed to do? "We're gonna get out of this mess. I promise you."

Like he'd promised Chuck.

No. He wouldn't let what happened to Chuck happen to Newt. Or to anybody else. This had to end. He couldn't lose any more friends.

But for some reason, the thought of losing Newt hurt more than anything else at the moment, and he had to forcibly remind himself to only think about here and now: Newt and the others were safe (well, as safe as they could be), and it was Teresa he had to worry about.

"We should get some sleep, or else it'll be a killer when Minho wakes us up again in a few hours. We still have a way to go 'til we get to the city." Newt suddenly said, back to the voice of reason, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. And he agreed. He was tired; more tired than he thought humanly possible, and the idea of going back to sleep sounded great, even if it was on the hard dirty ground, covered in a plastic sheet with the constant threat of death looming over them.

So the two of them lay back down, although Thomas couldn't help but notice that they were closer to each other than before. And as Newt closed his eyes, the rhythm of his breath very soon becoming slower, it once again occurred to Thomas something that Newt had said back in the Maze: the most important thing was that they had each other.

No matter what hell would throw at them next, they'd do it together.


	3. There's A Storm Coming

{Newt's POV.}

Newt woke to the sound of Minho's voice in his ear, and someone firmly shaking him by the shoulder.

"Rise 'n shine, sleeping beauties. We gotta go. Storm's coming."

As his eyelids slowly lifted open and he reached up to rub the sleep out of them, the first thing Newt noticed was the dull greyness of the sky above them, filled with clouds threatening to overspill with rain at any second. For once there was no blinding sun to be seen, and in some ways it actually came as a relief.

Beside him Thomas stirred as well, lifting his head to look around sleepily. When had they gotten so close to one another? Their arms were touching - had they shifted closer for warmth in the night? It did get pretty cold in the desert once the sun went down…

"Hey. Anybody home in that shuck head of yours?" Minho appeared again, knocking on Newt's head more forcefully than he would have liked after just waking up. Scowling, he shoved the boy's hand away and sat up.

"Bugger off, I'm gettin' up." Pushing himself to his feet, he suddenly became aware of the strong wind that was blowing particles of dust and sand into his face and eyes. Yet the air was strangely humid, and he could smell the storm approaching. As if confirming his thoughts, a low rumble sounded in the sky, distant but obviously getting closer.

"We'll find shelter in the city," Minho stated in his 'leader' voice, already beginning to jog ahead of the Gladers.

Thomas was suddenly standing up too, and he had to shout over the howling wind to be heard. "What if there are Cranks? That, y'know, try to kill us?"

"Then we fight 'em." Minho said without looking back, and Newt began to jog after him, followed by Thomas and the rest of their group. "I'll take my chances."

Newt didn't really fancy the idea of being attacked by Cranks past the Gone right now, but they only had two weeks to get through the Scorch to find the cure, or else they'd end up the same; burns, cuts and sores all over their bodies, totally out of their minds. Like monsters.

Having been so caught up in his thoughts, Newt hadn't noticed how quickly the sky had blackened as they ran, and before he knew what was happening, a large bolt of lightning came down in a flash, striking the ground with a small explosion a few metres in front of them all.

"KEEP GOING." He heard Minho yell from somewhere, and he didn't think, he just ran. As fast as he could. Around them, more bolts of electricity shot out from the sky and hit the ground, sending clouds of dust billowing up into the air as it impacted.

Full of adrenaline, all he could do was keep his eyes on the grey city dead ahead of them, ever gradually coming closer. He'd forgotten all about the threat of Cranks right now; they had to get to the shelter of those buildings before anybody -

BANG.

A flash of bright light directly in front of him, a searing pain all over his body, a force so strong that he was thrown backwards off his feet, and then...

Nothing.


End file.
